


Works of Art

by RingingSilence



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Banter, Body Paint, Face Paint, Fluff, Implied Aro!Gerry, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues, and attempts to rectify them, and them, because I love the dynamic it creates, body image issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:43:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RingingSilence/pseuds/RingingSilence
Summary: The coldness of the paint, the soft tickling bristles of the brush, made him itch to pull away. "If someone didn't insist on painting myfaceperhaps this whole ordeal would be that much simpler!""Should've thought of that before complaining about it, then," Gerry replied.--Face painting and light-hearted bickering.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/ Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 10
Kudos: 31





	Works of Art

"Jon, stop moving!"

Jon stopped mid-squirm and dared to open his eyes to scowl. "I'm trying!"

"Hold on a little longer, love," Martin snickered into his shoulder. "Gerry's just trying not to get paint in your eye."

"Which would be a lot easier if you didn't open them every time you decided to speak," Gerry said. He poised the brush over Jon's left eye again and held his chin a little more firmly. "Close please."

With a petulant pout, Jon did as requested. The coldness of the paint, the soft tickling bristles of the brush, made him itch to pull away. "If someone didn't insist on painting my _face_ perhaps this whole ordeal would be that much simpler!"

"Should've thought of that before complaining about it, then," Gerry replied.

"It is a very nice face," Martin agreed.

Gerry's grip discouraged Jon from hiding his face so all he could do was grumble wordlessly as embarrassed heat prickled up his neck. He wondered if his blushing would detract from the piece Gerry was constructing on his skin, contrasting with whatever colors he was using or highlighting it weirdly, and promptly wiggled guiltily. Martin's arms tightened around him, pulling him back into his chest and Jon blindly found one of his hands to squeeze the life out of. Gerry's hold was firm but gentle, more to steady his canvas than to hold him completely still, and his knees bumped gently against Jon's elbows every time he leaned this way or that for a better angle. It was almost unbearably warm and heart-achingly secure, wrapped between the two of them. It made the drying paint and prodding brushstrokes just a little less irritating. It also made Jon tempted to see if Gerry was still wearing the focused little frown Jon had gotten a glimpse of every time he looked so he dared another peek, readying a sarcastic excuse for Gerry's complaint.

"Jon." His eyes didn't leave his work as the brush danced across Jon's cheek but the corner of Gerry's mouth did quirk up.

Jon closed his eyes again. "Sorry, just wondering why I'm having to endure you poking around my eyes while Martin didn't."

"He complained about his stomach. You said you thought your eyes were ugly."

"And you should know, it tickled just as much there as it would have on my face," Martin grumbled, cinching his arms a little tighter around Jon. The piece had been beautiful: a bold moon peeking through a summer storm, the pigment turning his soft stretchmarks into proud bolts of lightning against the rolling storm clouds. It had been in rich purples and striking blues, rolling off of Martin’s ribs and over the swell of his stomach. Martin had cried when he'd finally been allowed to look and Gerry had managed to turn most of it into a shadowy smudge by hugging him before Jon could fetch a camera. _'Just a scribble. Not worth saving.'_

If only Jon and Martin could somehow make Gerry more confident with a few dabs of paint, but even if they'd had a lick of artistic skill between them they couldn’t force him see the beauty in his skills.

But they weren’t the only ones with physical flaws. “So, when do we get to do your scars,” Jon asked.

Gerry scoffed and the brush hesitated for a moment before sliding over the corner of Jon’s mouth. “It would irritate the burns, get caught in the wrinkles.”

“We could always do your tattoos,” Martin suggested, “I’ve been told I do a stellar hand-turkey.”

Gerry and Jon both snorted. The brush slipped, skating down to Jon’s jaw and Gerry groaned. “You’re both terrible. Really, why do I put up with this nonsense?”

“Because Martin is strong enough to carry you to your room when you fall asleep on the couch. I don’t know what my excuse is.”

A barely-there laugh and a gentle squeeze on his chin rewarded him. “Jon.”

Jon quickly shut his eyes again and felt the paint pull at his smiled. 

Eventually, Gerry sighed and Jon felt the couch cushions shift as he leaned back. “Alright, I’ve done enough damage.”

A mirror was pressed into Jon’s hand and he braced himself to see. His breath caught. 

A wide band of midnight blue crossed his face from above his temple on the left down to nearly the corner of his jaw on the right. The edges were blended out in soft strands of cottony clouds and a halo of moonlight circled his left eye. When he closed it, the moon itself was carefully detailed on his eyelid. All of his little pockmarked scars were carefully picked out into bright stars and comets, and a beautiful soft-winged moth just lit on the corner of his mouth. The curve and stretch of the clouds made the shape of his nose look almost noble, the bags under his eyes nonexistent, and his wide too-intent gaze itself less disconcerting and more mysterious. He let Martin shift him around to look without comment, entranced by Gerry’s work.

“…So?” Gerry’s voice was soft, hesitant, just barely shaking with nervousness.

Martin shook next to him. Jon squeezed his knee with his free hand. “I…you made me…”

“You turned my boyfriend into the cover of _Gatsby_ ,” Martin chortled.

Jon blinked and found he could breathe again. “Or _Silence of the Lambs_ ,” he said before his voice could crack.

Martin cackled and Gerry kicked them both. “Really? All of my hard work and that’s what you have to say? Ungrateful, the both of you!”

Jon grinned at him. Martin nearly knocked him into Gerry’s lap leaning over him to haul Gerry up for a group hug and Jon barely turned his face in time to avoid smearing it on the green and gray heart on Gerry’s t-shirt. 

“It’s lovely,” Martin laughed softly. “Really, thank you.”

Jon took a moment to just hold the both of them before struggling to worm his way out of their grasps. Gerry pulled him back in. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To get the camera before you can ruin it!” 

He almost managed to get free before Gerry got a hold of his wrist and hauled him back into range. He dodged Martin’s attempts to stop him from smushing his hand into the paint on the right side of Jon’s face. 

Jon twisted and shoved, trying to get away even as he laughed. “No, stop!”

By the time Martin pulled Gerry’s arm back it was too late: Gerry grinned and waved at him with a blue and gray palm “Oops.”

Jon flopped down next to him and crossed his arms. “How dare you.”

“I was the one who brought it into this world, it was my solemn duty to send it back.”

He let Martin inspect his painted hand and his self-satisfied smile pitched into confusion when Martin turned it and pressed it over the eye tattooed on Gerry’s throat. When he lifted it away again it left behind a streaky handprint, obscuring the older mark. Silence fell heavily over the trio while Martin carefully smudged the bottom edge down into two little feet and Jon rubbed a little of the paint from the moth onto his thumb to dab on the beak. He handed the mirror over to Gerry.

“There, now we’re all works of art,” Martin murmured.

Gerry looked at his reflection and swallowed. “…We’re pieces of work, alright,” he said hoarsely.

Jon smiled again, just to feel the paint pull, and took Gerry’s painted hand to pin between his and Martin’s.

Gerry sniffled and rubbed his nose into his shoulder. “God, we’re supposed to be adults, aren’t we?”

Martin chuckled again. “Oh no, how dare we paint on each other!”

“Truly, my partners are the worst influences,” Jon deadpanned and squished in so that Gerry was trapped between him and Martin.

“Terribly immature,” Martin agreed.

“Absolutely. Gertrude would be so disappointed,” Gerry mumbled.

“And Elias. He would probably say we’re unfit to be seen or something.”

“What do you think he’d do if we walked in with our faces painted,” Jon asked.

“Probably just stand there looking disapproving.”

“We should do it.”

Gerry sniffled again and batted at Jon’s shoulder. “I am _not_ letting you go into that place with my paint on your faces.”

“Fine, I hear Martin can do a very handsome turkey if I ask.”

“Absolutely, I’ll even do myself so we match.”

“Besides, Elias doesn’t deserve to see your beautiful art.”

Gerry pulled them back in so he could hide his face in Martin’s shoulder. “Shut up, both of you.”

Jon hooked his chin over Gerry’s shoulder to smile up at Martin. Martin grinned back and put his arm around both of them. “Love you.”

Gerry mumbled something into his shirt. Jon squeezed their hands.

**Author's Note:**

> *yeets this into the void*  
> I'm sure the English don't do hand-turkeys so if there is something that they do instead, let me know!
> 
> I've been [experimenting with acrylics](https://ringingsilent.tumblr.com/post/644602584928239616/does-this-count-as-fanart-its-inspired-by#notes) lately and when I use my arms or calves I don't have to worry about wasting paper. It also makes me feel good, to carry a little bit of art with me if that makes sense? Anyway, would love to find a friend or partner someday that would do something like this with me.


End file.
